The Rivers Ran Red
by regnum
Summary: His life had been violence. It was the only thing he had understood, even from a young age. Years of living in that house had pushed aside any memories he had of his mother and her love. [Updated 3009]
1. Aoshi: Leaving it Behind

**The Rivers Ran Red**

**Disclaimer: **RK is not mine. Oh, and the song belongs to **Train**. You'll find it on the Spiderman 2 soundtrack.

**A/N:** Watching the Kyoto arc, I had this idea to do a character introspection piece. It was supposed to be a one-shot. But then I thought, 'what if I did it for several people and combined it?' I have a feeling this will be a multi-parter in which each of the parts stands alone. So, here it is, part the first. R&R. Btw – anything in italics is a flashback. And when everything's in italics and you get stuff that's not in italics that's what the person is thinking

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**Ichi: Leaving it Behind**

_ And when the world is on its knees with me it's fine  
__And when I come to the rescue I get nothing but left behind  
__Everybody seems to be getting what they need, where's mine?  
__Cause you're what I need so very but I'm anything but ordinary _

Rain. The chill it brings invades bones, sneaks under doorways, permeates a room. It is the subtle reminder that winter is not quite defeated. She still has some tricks up her sleeve. But all this means nothing to the man.

He walks, the hem of his kimono darkened by the ever falling rain. The water drips of the strands of his dark hair. It stains his face and makes it look like he's been crying.

Nothing could be farther from the truth.

He moves silently, footsteps make no sound against the forest loam. He leaves no trace of his passage.

It's been a long time.

Almost too long.

A small clearing, four stones, haphazardly placed. Years of exposure to the weather have done little to mark them.

The last time he was here he had brought her with him. He had needed to, to show her their final resting place. _They_ would have wanted that. And, truth be told, even if he hadn't wanted to bring her she would have insisted anyway.

Ignoring the wet, he sits, allowing the silence of the forest to seep in. This was the place he had always found the most peaceful. In years past he would come here, reeking of death, bloodstained and scarred. Here, he found that his troubled heart could be at peace. Amidst the chaos that had invaded his mind, this was the focus point. The moment of clarity.

_Hannya…_

_Beshimi…_

_Hyottoko…_

_Shikiji…_

Memories and faces of long ago, still as familiar as here and now. He had been wrong not to come earlier. But then again, he had been wrong about many things.

_The sound of the gattling gun rang in his ears, he bit his lip to keep from screaming. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. His kodachi unsheathed he ran, and ran. But even before he entered the room he knew it was too late. _

_How could he have been so foolish, so naïve? _

_The room was splattered with blood. The stench of death hung in the air. He was too late. His comrades, their broken bodies, scattered on the ground. He had done nothing to save them._

_He had been unable to save them. _

_He, their leader, had led them to this. Unknowingly pawned them off to their deaths. The guilt suffused him, overwhelming him. _

_'It's my fault! If only I had seen it sooner. If only I had realized that we were just pawns in this game. If only…'_

_It was too late for 'if onlys', just like it was too late to save Hannya and the others. A single tear ran down his cheek, mingling with the blood that stained his face. _

_'Why didn't you take me too? I have nothing left to live for now. No hope, no honour. I should have died with them.'_

_He couldn't even take his own life. _

_He would have to seek out death instead._

For years he had sought death, sought and never found it. He had looked everywhere. In the back streets of Kyoto. On the meandering highways. Always seeking, never finding. Oh, he hid his death wish well. Determined to be the strongest, to avenge his friends, to finish the battle that had been started. All the time knowing that it was _him_, the battousai, who could give him what he most desired.

An end to it all.

_He sat in front of a flickering fire, felt the heat warm his bones. He knew that nothing could melt the numbness that surrounded his heart. He hadn't eaten in about a week. But he had gotten past the need for food. Hunger was nothing to him. Pain was nothing to him. His body was scarred by countless fights. _

_It still wasn't enough._

_A twig snapped._

_"You can come out now."_

_His voice was cold, emotionless, "If you're going to attack me I suggest you do it now. I won't be sleeping tonight."_

_Four men emerged out of the shadows. "How did you-"_

_"It doesn't matter." He watched them, firelight flickering in his eyes, "You'll all be dead by tonight."_

His hands were stained with blood. Call it what you will, he knew it was still murder. The men he had faced may not have been innocent, but he had not been given the authority to judge between life and death. He knew that. He also knew that there was no way that he could possibly atone for the lives he had taken. Not even if he gave up the rest of his life.

He was not an idealist like Himura. Then again, he had never slayed as many as Himura. But even in his killing, Himura had been idealistic, hoping and fighting for what he believed to be a better Japan. There was nothing righteous about his killing.

_"So…will you break your promise to me, Battousai?" _

_His face was dark, silhouetted by the light in the doorway. His thick, red hair hung into his eyes making them unreadable. "Yes, I made a promise. But you are not the man I made that promise to." _

_"I will be the strongest, Battousai." _

And if not, then you will kill me, and finally, finally I will find release.__

_He unsheathed his kodachi. Tonight, it would be settled. No matter the outcome of the battle, he would die tonight. "Draw your sword, Battousai." _

_"No. I have another promise to keep. I promised Misao that I would bring you back to her. I don't need to draw my sword to defeat you, Aoshi. I won't draw my sword until you release the hatred in your heart. Until you are restored, all I need to defeat you are the things in this room."_

_Misao. _

_He would not think of her now. The bright-eyed girl that he had practically raised. He had been her older brother when all her family had died. What would she say if she saw him now? Would she recognize the man he had become?_

Himura had been wrong that night. He _had_ needed to draw his sword in the end. That, at least, was something to be proud of. But he had been right about everything else. The will to live would always be stronger than the will to die.

And he had kept his promise – he had brought him back to Misao.

_It had been a long time since he'd really walked the streets of __Kyoto__. It felt like he had been dead for so long. It was ironic that this was the most alive he had felt in a long time – now that he was battered, bruised and closer to death than he had ever been. All of them were worse for wear. They had been incredibly lucky. _

_Either that or incredibly stupid. _

_As for Himura…only time would tell. Sanosuke was carrying him, despite the fact that he, himself was barely able to stand. The swordsman had taken quite a beating in the fight against Shishio. And he had triumphed. _

_They approached the street leading to the Aoiya. Not for the first time he wondered about the reception he would receive. The other three – Himura, Sanosuke and Saitoh – they were the heroes. He, on the other hand, was the wayward son. Returning to a home he had spurned and friends he had betrayed. _

_Would they hate him? Blame him? Curse him?_

_His steps faltered slightly, allowing the other two men to overtake him._

_There they sat, amongst the ruins of what was the Aoiya. Smiles cross their faces when they see the arrivals. Friends, family, rushing to meet the conquering heroes. Hugs, laughter and tears. Himura was rushed away to receive medical attention. Kaoru, fussing over Sanosuke. Yahiko, bragging about how he had defeated a member of the Juppongatana. He had a growing realization that he didn't belong here. He didn't belong with these people. They were happy and he had nothing but regret._

_"Oi, Shinomori!" _

_Sanosuke's voice, rough and grating. "Are you just gonna stand there or what?" _

_He had to force himself to move his feet. But he had taken no more than two steps when a warm body rushed into him, embracing him. He looked down into the eyes the girl who had never really given up on him. They were bright with unshed tears._

_Misao…_

He wishes he had brought something, anything, to give them. But really, the dead ask for nothing more than to be remembered. He remembers them as they were. His friends, his family, blood brothers in life and in death. He remembers the laughter and he remembers the tears.

_'But my story isn't ended yet.' _

No. He received a gift, a new lease on life. A new family.

He finds himself thinking of a certain pair of blue-green eyes.

_'Beshimi, Hannya, Hyottoko, Shikiji…I will never forget your loyalty. I truly am sorry for hiding behind your memory for so long. I have tainted your memory with the blood that I shed.' _He bows deeply, bangs brushing the forest floor. _'Please, forgive me.'_

The past remains in the past. And the future, well, that is a mystery yet to behold.

The sun breaks through the grey, suffusing the clearing with light. Somehow, he knows all is forgiven. Then, and only then, can Shinomori Aoshi smile.

_'Thank you…'_

**A/N:** My memory of the events in which Hannya and the others died is a little foggy so please forgive me if I've gotten it mixed up. And I've also taken a few author's liberties with the conversation between Kenshin and Aoshi when they fight. It probably was a whole lot more dramatic then I'm making it. Anyway, hope you enjoyed. Next up…and young man by the name of Seta…

© Abi

2004-09-28


	2. Soujiro: The Path of Least Resistance

**The Rivers Ran Red**

**Disclaimer: **RK is not mine. Oh and the song belongs to **Hoobastank** – it too can be found on the Spiderman 2 soundtrack.

**A/N:** Well…I've had a little (or more than a little) inspiration for this. I have great sympathy for Sou-chan. He had a terrible childhood. So, without further ado…part the second. Comments and criticisms are always welcome.

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**Ni: Path of Least Resistance**

_Did you find what you're looking for?  
__Did you get your foot in the door?  
__Can you look at yourself and feel proud of all the things you've done?  
__Did you inspire the ones that you knew?  
__Make a difference to those who knew you?  
__Did you finally figure out what it is that makes us who we are today?_

The sky glows a brilliant red, almost like the sun is crying out for attention with its dying rays. When the sky turns that colour it always brings back memories. He's walked a long way today, but he's not tired. Not really. But, when he thinks about it, it must be nice to be tired. To know that fulfillment of a hard day's labour. In some ways he envies the "normal" people. They've found what their looking for.

Rather, they're not looking for anything.

They're not haunted by memories.

Their past is not washed with blood.

Even now he finds himself smiling at the thought of it.

_'Funny…how the blood tinges my memories. It's like all I can remember is red, washed in red. Has it always been like this?'_

His hands, the hands of a killer, an assassin. Calloused from holding a sword. Even now, he doesn't really understand. _'I just…have to find my own truth. But where is it?'_

* * *

_He didn't want to be here, in this house with its large rooms and the people who yelled. It seemed like they were always yelling. No, he wanted to be back with his mother. Home, with its warm candlelit glow. It had only been an upstairs room in a brothel, and he and his mother had shared it with two other women. But it was home._

_He couldn't remember it very clearly; he'd only been five when they took him away. But he remembered warm touches, kisses on his forehead and the lingering scent of cherry blossoms. He'd felt safe then. Safe in a way he didn't feel now. _

_That time, before here, was a time of love and of being loved. _

_Those memories, faint as they were, were what he clung to desperately. They were the only things that told him that the world wasn't full of violence and brutality. There was no pain in his memory, there no one hit him._

_Here, they called his mother a whore, a slut. Common garbage. Hence, he was, by default, garbage as well, and they made sure that he knew it. Here, there were no gentle touches, no kisses before bed. Instead, there were kicks, punches and nights out in the cold. Nights that passed in a haze of feverish shivering and aching hunger. _

_"Soujiro! Where are you, you damned brat?" _

_The voice was shrill and snapped him from his daydream._

_His feet thudded against the dirt path painfully. A month without rain had dried out the surrounding countryside. It had made everyone irritable. If the weather kept up, the rice crop would suffer._

_"Yes?"_

_"Didn't I tell you to go fetch me water from the well?" the old woman demanded, her voice rising with every word. _

_He wracked his brain frantically, he didn't remember if she had or not. _

_Her hand connected with his face. Hard. He felt tears well in his eyes. _

_"Damnit, you brat! Why can't you do what you're told? Stop being so lazy!" She slapped him again, then thrust the water bucket at him, causing him to gasp with pain when it connected with his ribs. _

_He told himself he would not cry._

* * *

That had stuck with him for the majority of his life. His smile had become a weapon, a mask. Defensive, and secretive. Ironic that something that symbolized joy and happiness had become the symbol for all his misery.

He dropped his pack on the ground and readied himself to make camp. He didn't require much. A fire and that was about it.

Thinking back, it's no wonder that he joined Shishio's revolution. His life had been violence. It was the only thing he had understood, even from a young age. Years of living in that house had pushed aside any memories he had of his mother and her love. The only person who had shown him any kind of kindness in his love-starved existence was Shishio. And even then, Shishio wouldn't have cared if he'd lived or died.

* * *

_His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he ran. And ran. Lightning flashed across the sky, and he screamed._

_"Someone, help me please!!!!" _

_Where to go? How to escape them? His breath was coming in gasps now. "Help me, please!!!!"_

_He didn't dare call out Shishio's name. But even now, the little hope he'd had of the assassin coming to his aid was ebbing away. "Help me!!!" He fell to his hands and knees, crawling under the house. Maybe if he was very quiet they wouldn't find him._

_His hand closed around the hilt of the __wakizaki that Shishio had given him. _

_A frozen smile crossed his lips._

* * *

The first time he'd killed there had been no joy in it. Nothing but primal instinct, the _need_ to survive, to prove that he wasn't weak. Even now he still remembered the way that the blood had run down the sword's blade, mingling with the rain. His memories of that battle were foggy at best. He still didn't quite know how a kid of eight had been able to take down three grown men.

But he had.

He remembered how the sword had cut into the flesh, the shock that reverberated when he hit bone.

And the blood. So much blood. Mixed with the rainwater, it had seemed like he was awash in a sea of blood.

He recalled seeing one of those new Christian rituals when he had been wandering along the coast. What was the word he was looking for? Ahh yes…baptism. That night, he had been baptized in blood.

Christened as a killer.

_'Will I always be a killer?'_

* * *

_It was just another assignment, and an easy one at that. He would have no trouble keeping up with a moving carriage. And as for the actual victim, he was just a defenseless old man. _

_Easy. _

_He smiled when the carriage drove past his hiding place. At that speed it wouldn't even require the full strength of his abilities. His hand reached the door handle almost instantly. _

_He had just enough time to register the look of disbelief on the old man's face. "Hello," he smiled, "Shishio-sama sends his regards." Then he plunged the knife into his heart._

_It was almost too easy._

* * *

That had been the assassination that had started it all. That had been the day he had first met the Battousai. He remembered thinking that the "legendary" swordsman was rather nondescript. Surely a man like that would not pose much of a challenge. Then again, it was important not to take appearance for granted. And he had been wrong about Himura.

* * *

_"I am surprised that you made it this far."_

_The Battousai was looking understandably worse for wear. His battle with Aoshi had obviously been a hard one. His steely blue eyes flicked to the cuts at both sides of his neck. The blood that stained his pale skin._

_He smiled. _

_"I can't let you get any further, you know?"_

_He remembered their last fight. The ring of steel against steel. He remembered feeling vaguely disappointed at the outcome. After all, he should have won. _

_Should have. _

_He would win this time. _

_And yet…there was a niggling something in the back of his mind. A question that he didn't know the answer to. Something he didn't quite understand. _

_No matter, he unsheathed his sword. _

_He would win this time._

* * *

He had lost that battle. That had been the last time he had drawn his sword, the last time he had felt the feel of blade against flesh, seen the blood flow.

He wasn't sorry that it had been his last time.

The point of all his killing eluded him now.

Just like the answer to his question did.

* * *

_Why? _

_He felt his heartbeat race. The room blurred around him. _

_So close. _

_Only one more step._

_He drew his sword and struck. _

_The blade moved seamlessly through flesh, blood filled his vision. Briefly he saw his enemy's eyes widen in shock. _

_His heart skipped a beat. He'd missed. _

_How had that happened?_

* * *

He unsheathed his sword, laid it across his knees. It gleamed in the firelight. He hadn't used it once in the few months since he'd left Shishio's headquarters.

_"The strong live and the weak die, that's a fact of life."_

_"The purpose of being strong is to protect the weak. What is the point of power if you don't use it well?"_

Both Shishio and the battousai had power. Two men, so similar, yet they had chosen very different paths. Why? And now, which path would he take?

Himura had won in the end. Nothing but pain had come of Shishio's grand plan to overthrow the Meiji government. Yet, Shishio was the only father figure he had truly had in his life. His smile wavered. A father who believed in hatred, not love. In violence, not kindness.

Did he want to call such a man "father"?

A single tear streaked down his cheek. It landed on the sword blade, sparkling in the firelight.

_'Gomen nasai, Shishio-san…'_

© 2004-09-30

Abi

**A/N:** Well, hope that makes sense! Again, my memory is foggy so I've taken a few authors' liberties (as I like to call them). Poor Sou-chan! He'll find his answers one day. Comments/criticisms are welcome! Coming up next…Zanza!


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